


you can count on me like one two three

by jemmaswan



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Baby Fic, Domesticity, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Post S7 i guess, besties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24029578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemmaswan/pseuds/jemmaswan
Summary: “...Daisy?”“Yeah?”“Aside from when you came to visit at the hospital, have you ever held a baby before?” Jemma nods down to where she is holding her daughter not unlike a football.“Nope.”Jemma presses her head into the doorframe again.-When Fitz is called in for one last op, Daisy offers to help Jemma with the baby for a day. She’s a super hero now—what could go wrong?
Relationships: Jemma Simmons & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 8
Kudos: 71





	you can count on me like one two three

**Author's Note:**

> hello
> 
> it’s me
> 
> you may be asking “shay did you really get back into writing fic just to post another snapshot baby fic? ...again?” and that answer is yes. but this one is really cute. enjoy!
> 
> title is from ‘count on me’ by bruno mars. also thank you to my doctor queen laura for beta-ing as always!

After shifting her gear into park, Daisy quickly unbuckles her seatbelt and reaches for her shoulder bag in the passenger seat. She starts to climb out of the van, belatedly noticing the cool metal of her gauntlets still pressed into her skin.

Popping the gauntlets off, she nearly places them into the glove compartment for safe keeping. She stalls for just a moment, contemplative, before dropping them into her open shoulder bag and shutting the door. After all, with her line of work, the need to stop an alien attack? More likely than one would think.

When Mack had begged Fitz to come back in, claiming something like  _ it will be a day at most _ , and  _ you’re one of two people in the galaxy that can do what is needed on this op,  _ and  _ I’ll pay you overtime _ , he didn’t take it well.

It was more than just leaving his newer, safer, job at the recently reopened SHIELD Academy. He just wasn’t ready to leave Jemma—the only  _ other _ person in the galaxy that could do what was needed, and also the mother of his ten week old daughter—for that long of a time. So, to ease his mind as much as keep Jemma from going stir-crazy, Daisy had offered to lend a hand at the Fitzsimmons’ apartment for the day.

The door swings open before she can even knock and reveals a frazzled Fitz, longer curls askew from lack of care. Or lack of opportunity to pass a mirror. Or probably both. “Daisy,” he breathes.

A sharp cry rings out from behind him, and they both jump. “Good morning to you too,” she raises an eyebrow aimed between him and her still raised knuckles. 

“Ah, sorry, Bashful detected a visitor. Come in.” He steps aside to let her through. “Jem is in the nursery. Gracie’s been fussy today, which makes me feel even better leaving them.”

She rolls her eyes, dropping her bag on the sofa as the crying finally halts. “ _ Fitz.  _ Don’t start that again. We’re going to be fine today.  _ They’re _ going to be fine. Okay?”

“I know, I know—you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right!” She points to herself with both index fingers. “I’m  _ literally _ a superhero. What could go wrong?”

Then it’s Fitz’s turn to roll his eyes. “Now I’m  _ really _ worried.” He busies himself with continuing to load his duffle bag, while she meanders through the apartment in search of the nursery. When she cracks open the door and pokes her head in, she realizes the meaning behind the name startlingly fast.

“Whoa, warn a girl next time!” Daisy shrieks, eyes shooting up to the ceiling rather than her best friends’ entire right boob. 

Jemma jolts visibly in the rocking chair, but manages to keep the baby in her arms latched to her chest. “You try being a completely dependent organism’s entire food source for ten weeks and four days without feeling a  _ touch _ used to being topless in your own home.” 

Daisy holds her hands up in surrender. “No, no I’ll take your word for it. Just wasn’t planning to see that much of you this early into the day.” 

“Better get used to it,” Fitz mumbles, emerging out from behind her. “She eats more than any person I’ve ever known.”

“That’s because she’s  _ your _ daughter,” Jemma fires back with a smirk as he makes his way into her space. He presses a sweet kiss to her lips, cradling her cheek, before dropping a second kiss onto the top of Grace’s head.

“I’ve got to run, but I’ll have my phone on me if you need  _ anything _ . Or want anything. Or if you just want to send pictures, I’m sure the team would love to see them. Or—“

“We’ll be fine, Fitz. I promise.” She smiles sweetly at him before tending to her daughter, who’s grown bored of eating, and pulling her shirt back onto her shoulder. “Besides, we have Daisy.”

“Concern only slightly lessened,” he grumbles under his breath before sneaking another kiss and pulling the baby from her arms. Daisy gasps in only mildly mocked offense, as he gently pats Grace’s back against his chest. “Take care of Mummy for me, yeah?”

“You’re too paranoid, Dad,” Daisy stage-whispers, causing him to spin around on his heels in confusion.

“Was that supposed to be English or Scottish?”

“Both? I think? I feel like she’ll sound like both of you at the same time when she starts talking—I don’t know how that works.”

Fitz gives his wife a pointed look, and she gives one back. Defeated, he drops his head and passes the baby to Daisy. She fumbles, but manages to find a reasonably safe grip by the time he moves towards the door. Jemma follows after, giving him one last firm kiss before allowing him to leave.

Once he’s gone, Jemma leans her forehead against the doorframe and closes her eyes.

“Don’t worry, Gracie,” Daisy coos, “Aunt Daisy is here to save the day!”

“...Daisy?”

“Yeah?”

“Aside from when you came to visit at the hospital, have you ever held a baby before?” Jemma nods down to where Aunt Daisy in question is holding her daughter not unlike a football. 

“Nope.”

Jemma presses her head into the doorframe again. 

**—**

In hindsight, volunteering to help with Grace was a lot easier of a task when her only job as auntie was cooing into the camera at her during her weekly video-calls with Jemma to check in and ordering her funny onesies off Amazon during her downtime of being an active SHIELD agent.

She realizes quickly that parenting, even temporarily, is harder and messier than it looks on the screen.

After helping her settle on the sofa with a spare blanket and burp cloth over her shoulder, Jemma deposits her daughter into Daisy’s arms in a more comfortable position than said football hold. Grace kicks her little feet out and makes a grab for her aunt’s hair.

“Okay, now what?” 

Jemma shrugs, folding her arms over her chest as she sinks down beside her. “You just kind of, hold her there.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, there is a bit more to it then that—“

Grace proves her point by puckering her lip and letting out an indignant huff. “Shit, sorry Gracie. What did I do?”

“Oh, nothing. She’s just grown bored of sitting like that. You can just move her around. Bounce her a little. Talk to her. Make faces at her. Typical high-quality baby entertainment.”

“Huh,” Daisy muses, doing as instructed, leaning her against her chest and making faces at her when she turns to look at her. Gracie doesn’t seem to mind the change in pace, cooing as she reaches for the thin wool purls of her sweater. The baby peers around her shoulder and spots her mother, shrieking happily when she’s back in her line of sight. Jemma beams back just as cheerfully, waving her fingers at her.

“This is going well,” Daisy mentions, adding just a little more force to her bouncing and earning a happy gurgle from the baby. And it is, in fact, until another, less-enthused sounding gurgle makes itself known, followed by a warm sensation trickling down her shoulder.

“Oh dear,” Jemma grimaces. “I’ll just—“ she reaches for the baby and Daisy lets her. 

“Figures,” Daisy shrugs, pulling the now soiled burp cloth off of her.

“You can just toss that in her cupboard—I’ve got a pile of clothes and things I’ve been meaning to wash but keep procrastinating.”

Rising to her feet, she spins around. “Do you want me to start a load while I’m at it then?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’ll get to it. Things just pile up quickly, and it’s hard for us to start a wash when she screams every time she’s not attached to me or Fitz.” 

“Chill, I can do it. I’m here to help, remember?” Jemma’s thank you gets lost behind Grace’s squeal as Daisy moves on. Laundry. That should be easy; her clothes can’t be bigger than a sock puppet each.

When she opens the closet door to nearly be plowed over by an avalanche of spit-up stained onesies and blankets, she regrets her previous assumption.

**—**

“Okay, now tug the corner to your left and tuck it over her right side,  _ tightly _ , but gently!”

“Aaaand I think I got it! That wasn’t so hard.”

“Not bad for a first attempt, but next time let’s try to swaddle  _ both _ of her legs.”

“Oh. Right.”

**—**

“This is shaping up to be the best invention ever,” Daisy muses, holding Grace to her chest as Jemma fastens the baby bjorn around her. “Like I could probably entertain her  _ and  _ kick someone’s ass at the same time with this on. Or eat an entire Scooby-Doo sized sandwich.” That in itself seems like a Herculean task with a baby.

“It definitely makes things easier, especially when Fitz is out. I can get so much done with both of my hands free.” She clasps the last piece into place and takes a step back to admire her handiwork before sitting back on the sofa. “Feel secure?”

“Yep, snug as a bug in a rug.” Daisy extends her arms out to demonstrate in a  _ look Ma, no hands!  _ fashion. She struts around the living room rug, kicking out a leg or striking a pose every ten or fifteen seconds. “She really just chills here? For long periods of time?”

“Sometimes,” she corrects. “It depends on her mood. Every now and then she will get fussy from being so restricted or not facing outward, but typically as long as she’s in someone’s personal space she’s fairly chipper.”

“I can see that. Yes I can, yes I can,” Daisy coos down at Grace when she gives her a wide, toothless grin. She’s found herself swaying without even realizing it for most of the day, but the baby seems to enjoy it. “Are you smiling at me? Huh? I see you smiling at me!”

It’s precious for about another sixty seconds, until a noise so loud there’s no possible way it could come from such a tiny creature interrupts the tender moment, and Daisy halts. 

“Please tell me that wasn’t—“

Jemma rises to her feet in an instant. Before she can even reach her daughter, she recoils with a scrunch to her nose. “I’m afraid it is.”

“Are you  _ kidding?”  _ Daisy shrieks. “We  _ just  _ got you into this thing!”

Jemma only snickers out an apology.

**—**

“There’s only so many children’s cartoons I can watch in a day’s time before I go mad,” Jemma says fondly. “This is a nice treat for both of us when the weather permits.” 

Daisy’s pushing the stroller as they walk and talk around the block. When Jemma had suggested it, she’d leaped at the chance. Surely there wasn’t a mandatory parenting class on  _ walking _ , right?

Again, wrong. There were so many extra steps that she had really never thought about, such as what the baby needed to  _ wear _ or what all to  _ bring _ or strapping the baby  _ into _ the stroller or  _ opening the goddamned stroller to begin with.  _

Why wasn’t her inhuman power a third hand? That would be really handy. 

“Plus there’s the whole walking speed you gotta factor in,” Daisy continues listing the unexpected steps to take for such a mundane task. “Go too fast, she freaks out. Go too slow, she freaks out. And god  _ forbid  _ I swerve around a damn squirrel. You’d think I was trying to roll her into traffic.”

“She’s a bit finicky when things don’t go her way,” Jemma agrees, clearly biting her lip to keep from laughing.

“Gee, I wonder where she gets that?”

She scoffs.  _ “Obviously _ her father.” 

_ “Right.” _

And then, trailing off a chuckle, Jemma goes quiet. As if she’s only just remembered something important.

Daisy picks up on this quickly. “Hey,” she regains her attention. “He’s gonna be fine. You know that, right?”

“I know, I know.” She shakes her head. “It’s just a bit strange. After everything we’ve been through, it’s just felt so  _ good _ knowing he’s only a few miles away when he’s not here—at work or running down the street to grab dinner.” She peers down at the ground below her. “Him being so far away from us is just a bit unsettling.”

Daisy nods. “Maternity leave can’t help with that either.”

Quick to change the subject, Jemma peeks up. “On the contrary, I’ve really enjoyed it.”

“Really? You?”

“It’s true! I mean, the first few days before the birth were awful. I  _ hated _ not being able to do anything. I could hardly put  _ shoes _ on by myself.”

“Understandable.”

“I think it was just nerves,” she shrugs sheepishly. “But now that she’s here, we’ve been so busy I haven’t even had a moment to miss our new definition of normalcy.”

**—**

They’re sitting at the breakfast nook and chatting when Grace lets out one of the many cries she’s released in the last twenty minutes.

“Hungry again,” Jemma mumbles, more to herself than anything, as she drops her fork into her salad bowl for the fourth time. The first three were causation of Grace dropping her blanket, then her plush monkey that makes the crinkly noises, then just for not being the center of attention momentarily.

“I literally don’t understand how she can be hungry again already.” Daisy says, watching as the new mother carefully lifts her baby from the playpen with the sappiest smile on her face. “Or how you can tell that she’s hungry just from her crying.”

“Well, I do spend nearly every waking moment with her,” she answers as she settles herself in one of the armchairs, maneuvering a fussy Gracie to her chest with super spy-like precision. “She has her own way of communicating with us. Isn’t that right, darling?” Grace grunts around her lunch in response.

Now desensitized to seeing her best friend’s boobs out, Daisy can’t help but smile at the elation on Jemma’s face as she murmurs to the baby. She literally can’t think seeing another human being so happy to have a kid. Except Fitz, maybe. She swears he starts levitating off the ground every time he even talks about her.

Even though she misses the movie marathons and drinking nights that came with living practically on top of her best friends for years, seeing them this happy and enthusiastic in their new roles makes even the occasional loneliness on slow days worth it.

And as her honorary aunt, she’ll do anything to keep it that way.

**—**

“I can—”

“Nope,” Daisy takes a step back, turning slightly so that Grace is just out of her mother’s reach. “You’ve been trying to eat a salad for like, an hour now. The point of me coming over was to help you out while Fitz is gone, and it’s not really helping if you’re still having to do everything.” Daisy gives her friend a knowing look, and Jemma sighs, defeated. “So, tell me how you usually get her down for a nap.”

“Okay,” she grins. “She loves to be swaddled, which you know how to do, so now would be a good time.” Carefully, Daisy maneuvers the fussing baby to a totally confident position in one arm so that she can grab the blanket draped over the back of the rocking chair. Jemma helps her spread it out onto the changing table, but allows her to handle the swaddling on her own.

“Now comes the lengthier part,” Jemma continues. “The easiest way for me is to hold her against my chest and walk around while I bounce her, and I’ll usually sing or hum to her until she dozes off. She’s a pretty heavy sleeper, so it shouldn’t be difficult for you to transfer her into the crib. Think you can handle that?”

Already shifting Grace from the table to her chest, Daisy nods. “Walking, bouncing, humming or singing. I got this.” She demonstrates awkwardly at first, but quickly falls into a comfortable step. Grace even drops her tiny cheek onto the top of her shoulder, babbling softly rather than fussing.

Her friend smiles gratefully, giving her a thumbs up before turning to sneak out the door before the baby takes note. Daisy is starting to think she is getting the hang of this, stepping in small circles and even going as far as humming a familiar tune as the door behind them is closing—and then it opens again.

“Daisy?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you...are you humming  _ It Wasn’t Me _ to my baby?”

“Uh…” Well shit. She absolutely is. “Is it working?” She turns around bit more so that Jemma can see.

“Seems to be.”

“Then…” Daisy whispers, “Yeah, yeah I am.” Jemma makes a start like she is going to say something, so she frowns, tipping her head against Grace’s, “ _ Go _ . Go eat your salad.” Jemma rolls her eyes, but waves her hand in surrender as she leaves the nursery.

**—**

“Mission accomplished!” she announces, startling Jemma so much that she nearly chokes on the bite she’s just taken. Daisy plops onto the sofa next to her, brimming with triumph. 

“Thank you, Daisy,” Jemma says after she catches her breath. “I know it’s been a lot, but you really have been a huge help.” She squeezes her arm gently, and then gestures to her newly-free-of-Gracie shoulder. “Oh, but you’ve got a little—”

The inhuman tugs on the neck of her shirt to examine the damp spot from the baby’s drooling, and shrugs. “Eh, better than spit up again.” Jemma chuckles as Daisy tips her head back against the top of the cushion, the morning finally catching up to her. “God, I’m  _ exhausted.” _

“Welcome to my world.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, saving the planet and fighting bad guys on the reg while trying to co-run an entire government organization is exhausting as it is, you would know, but oh my god, even my  _ bones _ feel tired right now.” She tilts her head to face her friend again. “Also can we talk about how fast you knew the song I was singing was Shaggy?”

Jemma gives her the signature look that screams  _ have you forgotten I’m a world-renowned genius?,  _ which she hasn’t seen so intensely in years. 

“I don’t live under a rock, Daisy.” 

“I know but—” she starts until she realizes that Jemma has said  _ “In fact, Fitz and I—” _ at the same time and halts completely. 

The new mother flushes. “What?”

_ “Please  _ finish whatever it was you were gonna say. I’m begging.”

She doesn’t meet Daisy’s eye, suddenly preoccupied with plucking pieces of fuzz from Grace’s nursing pillow beside her. “I’m pretty sure Fitz and I sang that once at karaoke night when we were at Sci-Ops.”

Daisy isn’t sure what to unpack first. Fitzsimmons? Karaoke?  _ Shaggy? _

“It’s not like we picked the song, it was automated by our friends that dragged us into it.” She rolls her eyes. “We weren’t  _ recluses _ . Honestly Daisy, I expected better of you!”

“Fine, fine,” Daisy surrenders. “You aren’t still in touch with those friends, are you? Like, to the degree that I could give them a twenty and firm handshake in exchange for the footage of that? No? Okay fine.”

**—**

Daisy doesn’t intend to doze off, not really, but after settling down on the sofa and catching up with Jemma with the pleasant hum of 101 Dalmatians playing at a low volume, the exhaustion of the morning hits her all at once. 

She wakes with a start—momentarily forgetting where she is, and why there is a loud, high pitched cry nearby that sounds not unlike a wounded animal. It takes her a few seconds and the motion of the cushion beneath her giving in to bring her up to speed. Beside her, Jemma yawns and stretches and rises to move to the nursery. Daisy sighs and follows.

“Oh, I’ve got her,” Jemma starts, but Daisy still waves her off and follows her nonetheless. 

If Fitzsimmons can do it for the rest of their lives, she can probably do it for one day. 

**—**

“She looks just like Fitz.” Daisy muses later, allowing her niece to close her tiny fists around her index fingers from where she’s propped against her thighs. “You know?”

“Oh, don’t I know it.” Jemma snorts without looking up from her tablet. “I carried her for nine full months only for her to look nothing like me.”

When Gracie releases one finger, reaching for her hair instead, Daisy traces her knuckle down the side of her tiny cheek. It’s true: she’s definitely inherited her father’s nose and mouth and absolutely his curls, anyone could confirm that by just giving her a once over. However her warm bright eyes full of wonder and flecks of gold that will no doubt darken in time have Jemma written all over them.

Which begs the question: “Do you ever wonder about her?”

“I mean I’m sure she’ll show a few of my features as she gets older, and the more I look at her the more I wonder if that high forehead is mine—”

“No I meant,” Daisy swallows, “Deke’s mom. Do you ever wonder who she looked more like? What her life was like? If they’re the same person?”

Jemma sets her tablet down immediately. “Well, the odds of them being the same person in two different timelines are a  _ bit _ astronomical. Even with our luck,” she taps the tip of Gracie’s nose and grins softly when she squirms. “But I have thought about it a lot actually. Fitz and I have spoken about it too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know the name is the same. Deke told me her name months ago. That’s actually why we chose it.”

“Really? That makes sense.”

Jemma smiles down at her daughter. “Well, we both had Grace on our lists early on, so as we both liked it a lot, we thought it would be a great way to honor her.”

Daisy lifts baby Grace from her lap to hold her close. “That’s a pretty big name to live up to. Since the O.G. Grace Fitz-Simmons helped kickstart the cause to save the world and all.” 

“True, but I’m sure she’ll surprise us in this life in her very own way.” As if on cue, Gracie’s face twists and turns deliberately. Her change in mood is followed by a smell so foul it nearly makes Daisy gag. 

“Speaking of surprises,” she utters.

**—**

“Okay well, I think I failed that diaper changing lesson.” Daisy’s hands hover over the baby uncomfortably, as the baby wails just as uncomfortably.

Jemma gathers a few items from the shelf beneath the changing table. “It’s not her normal bath day but we might as well give her one now. If you’ll grab her—” she glances at the weak expression on Daisy’s face at the thought and winces. “Or if you’ll grab her towels, I’ll take her.”

Nodding, Daisy pulls the supplies from Jemma’s arms and swaps places with her, marveling at how unphased she is at carrying her daughter when her daughter is, for lack of a better description, literally covered in shit.

Together, they bathe baby Gracie in a baby bathtub with a baby washcloth, both of which are so tiny Daisy quickly overcomes her queasiness to coo over how _ridiculous it is that someone had to make things so small._ _For a human so small_.

Gracie, for one, is lulled in and out of sleep by the warm water. She starts, fusses a bit, when Jemma lifts her out and deposits her into the towel in Daisy’s arms, but she snuggles and settles so quickly that Daisy almost doesn’t want to release her.

In truth, up until Jemma’s unexpected-but-also-not-surprising pregnancy, Daisy hadn’t given babies much of a second thought. They did not work in the grand scheme of things in her lifestyle before SHIELD, and through SHIELD she had hardened, wisened—how could she even consider it after all the tragedy she’d seen, felt, and even caused?

But here and now, holding her oh so trusting baby niece, she understands why her friends would do it all over again just to meet such a precious little soul.

**—**

When Gracie cries the next, Daisy cocks her head, contemplative. “Bored?”

“Hungry,” Jemma corrects fondly, extending her arms for Daisy to deposit her daughter into them. “But you’re catching on.”

“At least I can confidently hold a baby now. I can cross that off the domestic bucket list.”

Jemma laughs loudly at that. Back in their early days on the Bus, one night after everyone grew tired of her completely demolishing them at Scrabble, the two of them along with Fitz had been left in the lounge until they could just barely see the beginning of the sunrise from the windows. They had shared a few drinks and reflected on some of the crazy things they’d witnessed in the last few weeks, and joked about coming up with their own domestic bucket lists—like mattress surfing or hosting a dinner party—since the traditional outlandish goals were quickly becoming the norm.

“Do you want to know something funny?” Jemma asks once Gracie starts eating.

“Um, always.”

“I had to teach Fitz how to hold a baby too.”

Daisy gasps out a laugh. “Recently?!”

“Oh, god no. Back in our Academy days. Though, he did need a bit of a refresher when Grace was born.” Daisy laughs even harder. “He stayed with me for a few days over summer break to help with a joint project and ended up being roped into joining me for my niece’s birthday party. He was a good sport about it, but I swear, even after  _ everything _ , I’ve still never seen him more terrified than when I asked him if he wanted to hold my nephew, who was just a bit older than this one.”

“No shit,” she cackles, the mental image of a lanky, teenage Fitz panicked and protesting his future wife and mother of his child trying to place a baby into his arms as Jemma continues on.

“He wasn’t so bad once he got the hang of it. Once he figured out how to make him laugh, he was a natural.” A dopey grin spreads across her face, presumably at the memory. Daisy groans half-heartedly.

“Don’t get me wrong, I want you two to live like the Sims and make as many tiny humans as possible, but  _ cool it _ , mamacita. You do  _ not  _ need another one right now.”

Jemma drops her hand to her belly, looking shocked. “You didn’t know?” Daisy’s eyebrows hit the ceiling before her friend cracks, throwing her head back with the force of her laughter. Daisy frowns and beams her in the calf with a stuffed elephant.

_ “Jemma Simmons _ , you piece of shit!”

**—**

When Fitz returns late in the evening, they have all fallen silent and still in sleep. Daisy is on the floor for some reason, despite their abundance of guest seating, Gracie is on her back on the curve of the sectional sofa, fenced in by several throw pillows, and Jemma is next to her, head tipped into the armrest but with one hand reaching out towards the baby. The sight nearly takes his breath away.

Even in her dreams, she needs her whole world at arm’s length.

Tiptoeing past their friend, he moves around the living room to trace his knuckles over Grace’s tiny fingers balled into fists, marveling at how someone so small can hold tight with such ferocity. Then he kneels before his wife. He runs his palms up and down her arm softly and watches as she stirs back to him. 

Her first move is to dart her eyes towards the baby, a reflex they’ve both developed recently, and then her gaze lands on him and oh yes, he is home again.

“Fitz,” she whispers, grinning widely and reaching for his face. Her thumb sweeps over a small scratch over his cheekbone. She starts to say something, but Fitz shakes his head and kisses her thumb. 

“Later,” he whispers back, scooting forward to catch her lips with hers before she can poke and prod him for any other injuries. She sighs into the kiss and shifts to drape her arms around his neck.

The break at the sound of a throat clearing, jumping apart to look over at Daisy, who raises an eyebrow. “Looks like I caught you banging on the sofa.”

Fitz peers between her knowing look and Jemma, who is desperately trying not to crack and wake the baby. That lasts about three seconds before she loses the battle, muttering,  _ “It wasn’t me,” _ under her breath. She and Daisy both burst into giggles at Fitz’s bewildered expression.

“What exactly happened while I was gone?” but he doesn’t get an answer before Gracie lets out a wail beside them, making her dismay of a rude awakening known. Fitz reaches for her and tucks her into the crook of his arm to soothe her as the women laugh even harder.

After catching each other up on their respective days spent— _ I had it completely under control, Jemma. Mack only had to pull me out of the tunnel  _ after _ I disarmed the goon— _ Daisy rises to her feet.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? It’s late. We can have the guest room set up in a few minutes.” Jemma places a hand on her hip as Daisy gathers her things and shoulders her bag. 

“Nah,” she waves her off. “I think you can handle the rest from here. I should head back to base. I’m sure the world will be in mortal peril again by noon tomorrow.”

Jemma shrugs. She isn’t wrong. “Well, thank you anyway. You were a huge help today.”

Daisy gives her a funny look. “Nothing you couldn’t have done on your own.”

“I know,” she smiles, looking back at her husband, who is continuing his groundbreaking story for their daughter. “But I needed reminding that I don’t  _ have _ to.”

“Now that,” Daisy says, “I can do anytime.”

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: the part where daisy unintentionally rocks gracie to sleep to the tune of ‘it wasn’t me’ is totally based on the time i did that to my nephew when he was itty bitty.


End file.
